A Bad Day
by aharrypotterheart
Summary: Why would Harry Potter, Saviour, Head Auror and all-around hero choose Draco Malfoy as his interpreter?


**A Bad Day**

"_Today was not a good day._" That is my last thought before my head hits the pavement.

* * *

I woke up this morning to the sound of my elf, Dippy, knocking her head against the kitchen cupboard and the smell of burned toast. I went to work with a rumbling stomach and an overpriced cup of coffee in my hand. Apparently, even a simple espresso was too hard for my new and _very_ incompetent elf.

The line to get through the floo was exceptionally long and by the time I arrived at the Wizarding Translation Foundation, I had to piss. It seemed like a lot of my co-workers had the same problem which caused another waiting line. I tried to sneak into my office, but of course my boss saw me and I was subjected to a scolding for being late.

After that, things seemed to look up for a little while, that is, until my secretary dropped the bomb. "Head Auror Potter is waiting for you in the lobby." she said with an annoying singsong voice. The girl is always sickeningly happy.

I had no idea why he was there. Why would Harry Potter, Saviour, Head Auror and all-around hero choose me as his interpreter? Sure, I'm very good at my job, but there are plenty of excellent translators working at the W.T.F. . Still, I had no choice but to see him. "Send him in."

* * *

He walked into my office looking almost exactly like The Daily Prophet described him in last week's 'exclusive interview with our national pride'. They wrote: 'Head Auror Potter is every woman's fantasy come to life. He radiates power and oozes virility.' I remember the exact wording because it made me choke on my tea and caused a large coughing fit. While I wouldn't put it quite so strong, he did look extremely masculine in his bright red Auror uniform.

"Head Auror Potter. Please have a seat. How can I be of service?" I gave him a polite smile and held out my hand.

"Malfoy, please." He sounded exasperated. So I huffed, withdrew my hand and sat down.

"Fine, have it your way. What do you want, Potter?"

Potter sighed, rubbed his temples, sighed again and took a seat as well.

"It's about a case. We have been trying to capture a serial killer with very little success. He has slaughtered several families, seemingly without reason, and he leaves a note every time…"

"Yes, go on."

"The note is written in Ancient Runes." Here Potter looked pointedly at the plaque on my desk that says '_Draco Malfoy, Interpreter/Translator, Specialized in: French, Ancient Runes and Mermish_'.

"Are you trying to tell me you want me to translate them? You have got to be kidding me! I know for a fact several Aurors on your staff are specialized in ancient languages. I studied with some of them myself!"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Then get to the point." I was getting exasperated too. His cold and bad-tempered demeanour got on my nerves.

"No one seems to be able to translate them and according to Hermione-"

I snorted. "Of course."

"_And according to Hermione_ that is because they contain a secret code. She has been comparing them with other documents the Aurors confiscated during the War and it seems to be the same code used by Death Eaters. She hasn't been able to br-"

"So what, you decided to ask the evil ex-Death Eater? You're only here because I have the Dark Mark."

"Would you stop interrupting me! I'm here because you have a degree in Runes and a reputation of being quite smart."

"Quite?" I said with a sneer.

"Fine, very. Very smart."

"Well, thank you, Potter. No need to flatter me so."

"Grow up, Malfoy."

"Hey! I acted perfectly mature, thank you very much. It was you who wanted to be all pubescent and refused to be polite."

Potter just harrumphed.

We stayed quiet for a while after that. The tension in the room rose, and I noticed Potter was becoming fidgety. I just remained silent and waited for him to say something. The internal struggle he seemed to have amused me.

"All right! I'm here because you have the Dark Mark! Don't you see? You're the perfect candidate to solve this thing. I just want to catch the bastard and you need to help me!"

I couldn't control it. Maybe I'm not as grown up as I think I am, but I just had to point it out. I revelled in the fact he admitted to needing me. "Too bad your precious Mudblood couldn't help you, isn't it?" I knew, even as I said it, I had gone too far.

Potter's head snapped up and I saw the ice cold fury in his eyes. His voice was hard and sent shivers up my spine.

"Forget it. We'll solve it on our own."

He stood up, turned around, walked out and banged the door shut. I swear the plaque on my desk rattled from the impact.

I don't know why I did it. I haven't used that word in years. Maybe I just wanted to see how he would respond. Well, now I know.

* * *

I spent the rest of my day thinking about it. I felt terrible. Not because I hurt Potter, but because I lost my chance at getting his attention. For once Potter acknowledged me as an equal, and I ruined it. Also, it would have been a great job. I would have loved solving that mystery. As much as I loathe Granger, she and I have that in common.

I tried to distract myself with the piles of paperwork that were taking over my desk. I do love my work, but the endless supply of documents I have to fill in after completing a job always fills me with dread. It's not just the Muggles that seem to have a problem with the results of bureaucracy.

I was relieved when I was finally allowed to go home. I wanted to just forget about Potter and his stupid case. My excessive workload hadn't helped to get my mind off of it. On the contrary, the mindless repetition of signing documents and spelling them together had only made matters worse. So I grabbed my cloak and rushed out to get something to eat. The combination of my non-existent breakfast and the saggy sandwich I had had for lunch, left me hungry and eager to see if Pansy was in the mood for a meal at 'Shalimar', our favourite Indian restaurant.

That is when it happened. I was running down the stairway that adorns the entrance of the W.T.F. and I tripped - how mortifying! - over my own feet. I rolled down roughly twenty steps and had just enough time to curse this day before I smacked my head against the cobblestone road and lost consciousness.

* * *

I wake up with a pounding headache and my vision is somewhat blurry. So it takes a while before I recognize him. At first I think it's Pansy, because of the short black hair, but soon I realize Pansy would not be caught dead with her hair on end like that. I try to focus and eventually I notice the red uniform. My heart sinks. What the hell is he doing here? I look away and try to identify where _here_ is. It only takes a glimpse of the softly beeping, purple globe above my head to recognize St. Mungo's.

"What are-" My voice cracks and I have to start again. "What are you doing here?"

Potter turns around. His posture is kind of stiff and he looks grim for a second, but his expression quickly switches to a more neutral one. I wonder what is wrong.

"I was there when you fell. I was looking for you and saw what happened. That was quite a smack."

I can feel my cheeks redden. Of course he was there, he's always there when I'm at my weakest.

"Yes, well, I'm fine now. You can leave." I notice my voice still sounds faint, so I clear my throat and hope that I look braver than I sound.

"No, uh, I think I'll… I'll stay." Potter stammers. The corners of his mouth tighten and that grim expression is back. I'm starting to get worried.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Like you said, you're fine. You have a very mild concussion, so you should take it easy for a couple of days, but you'll be all right." This time he sounds confident and sure. I relax.

"So I can leave then?" I'm already trying to get up. I can't wait to get out of here. This place makes me queasy. I can't stand the smell of sick people and overcooked hospital food. No, actually, I can't stand the memory of my father dying within these very walls. It might have been years ago, but the recollection of the way they treated him here still stings. He was a cold and evil bastard, but he was my father and I loved him.

"No, actually, you can't. They want to keep you here for a while. For observation, you know."

Observation. Naturally. I let out a heavy breath and collapse back into the coarse sheets of my hospital bed. "I don't need you to babysit me."

"I know."

He doesn't move. I ignore him, close my eyes and let sleep take over.

* * *

A faint noise pulls me out of my superficial slumber. A Mediwitch is muttering under her breath, but I can't make out the words, so I cough to let her know I'm awake. The muttering doesn't stop.

"Uhm, excuse me?" I say it quietly, but she still starts.

"What!" she snaps. She barely looks at me before she turns around again and resumes her mumbling.

"I was just wondering when I could go home?"

"The sooner, the better."

I wince. The expression could have been interpreted as a neutral one, but her voice sounds hostile and I'm a little taken aback.

"Yes, okay. Did Potter leave?"

"I don't know. I'm not your secretary."

Suddenly it dawns on me why Potter refused to go home. My suspicion is confirmed when he walks in with two cups of coffee in his hands and the first thing he does is glare at the Mediwitch . Thankfully, she scurries off immediately.

"I'm used to it, you know." I gesture in the direction the Mediwitch took off, "It happens."

Potter understands instantly. He sits down on the edge of my bed before he speaks. "How can you say that? She refused to treat you! One look at your left arm and she refused! I had to call in her superior."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, sigh and put on my brave face. "You're still as righteous as you used to be, I see."

"I take it that was not meant as a compliment."

I snort. "No, it wasn't."

* * *

I'm walking up the stairs to my own apartment and I'm nervous. Potter is walking behind me. He still refuses to leave me alone, said I shouldn't be Apparating or twirling around in the floo. So he gave me a ride on his motorbike. The damn thing flew and he didn't warn me! That gave me quite a scare; I'm certain he did it on purpose.

When we arrive at my front door , Potter shows no signs of going home, so I let him in. He has been silent for ages and the glances he keeps sending my way give me goose bumps. He looks around and I see him pausing at my collection of miniature dragons. He appears pensive and it takes a while before he speaks. "I don't really know you at all, do I?"

"I'm sure-"

He tears his gaze away from the dragons, sees my expression and scrunches up his face in distaste. "No. Don't give me some smartass comment. Answer me."

I sigh. "No, you don't. I would assume that statement goes both ways." Potter's face relaxes again and he plops down on my sofa. "Yeah."

I turn to get us something to drink. He doesn't look like he's going anywhere any time soon.

* * *

"How did you, uhm, you know, end up as a translator?" He sounds like it physically pains him to get out those words and it almost makes me laugh.

"Do you really want to do this?" I ask. He nods, slowly.

I sit down next to him. I have to admit he _is_ trying . For just a second I think about letting him down, a refused hand in friendship clearly etched in my memory. Then the vision of that little boy blurs into the man sitting next to me.

"Runes used to be one of my favourite subjects in school. After the war…" I pause, "Well, let's just say potions didn't hold the same appeal anymore. So I decided to specialize in languages. Runes because I liked it, French because I was skilled at it, and Mermish to piss my father off."

Potter grins. "Did it work?"

"Oh yes, he wasn't too pleased with me for months." I tilt my chin up and exaggerate my aristocratic drawl into an almost accurate representation of my father's. "I did not raise my son to associate with half-breeds and the like. I simply forbid you to do this."

Potter's smile widens. I grin back. It seems like my little joke opened up the conversation. It's still a little stroppy and we only discuss safe subjects like the new Quidditch shop in Hogsmead and the terrible weather as of late, but we're talking and that sort of pleases me.

* * *

Half an hour passes before the discussion turns serious again. I ask the question that had been on my mind for a while now.

"Why did you come back?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I fell… Why were you there?"

"I… I don't really know. I wanted to see if… I really want to solve this case and I'm convinced you can help us. Even if you are a prat."

I don't know what to say exactly. I don't disagree with him. That's when I realize disagreeing is what we do. Our entire relationship is based on that and while I know why I keep coming back for more - I have ached for his attention since I was child after all - I don't know why he does.

"I don't understand you. People don't like me. Even before I open my mouth, people refuse to work with me or give me medical attention. I talk to you and all that comes out is crap, but you still come back. You save my life and you admit to needing my help and you're affronted when people treat me wrong. I'm not a nice person to you."

Potter looks gobsmacked. "Uhm, I don't-"

"No, listen. I'm asking you, why do you always come back?"

To my surprise and I have to admit horror, Potter starts laughing. His face turns red and it looks like he's having trouble breathing, he's laughing so hard. I'm terribly confused and kind of hurt. I look away. He notices and stops immediately. I can feel a comforting hand on my arm and the sofa bounces up and down under Potter's movement. I peek over my shoulder to see what he's doing and before I realize it he's pressed against my side. "Don't you know?" he says.

"No, I don't, Potter. That's why I asked."

I can feel his exhalation, his breath tickles my hair before he drops his forehead against it.

"Because I need you. I need you to help me keep my feet on the ground. I've been obsessed with you forever. You've always been there. You make me feel, irritated mostly, but feel. You're… refreshing. Even after all this time. I just… I need you."

I look up, surprised. His eyes widen and it seems like he only just realized what he said. He ducks his head and I can see his cheeks redden. I let out a soft laugh myself and relax.

"Yeah, you need me." I say before giving him a nudge with my shoulder.

* * *

When I go to bed that night, the entire day seems surreal. Maybe it wasn't such a bad one, I did get an exciting job and a date after all.


End file.
